Hope is the Thing That Kills
by Colubrina
Summary: His contact is late, his feet are cold, and Draco Malfoy is afraid. A tropey order-spy sort-of-dramione one-shot.


If he didn't get back soon, people would start to ask questions. Questions were bad. Questions led to _questioning_ , a polite word for torture. Draco Malfoy knew he wasn't the sort who nobly withstood agony while laughing at his foes. He was a coward and a shite and a bully but at least he was bloody well prompt.

Unlike his Order contact.

He checked his watch again. Three minutes had passed since he'd checked last time. He stomped his feet trying to get warmth back into his toes and looked up at the sky. The full moon trundled along her path: bright, cold and indifferent. A bird called out. Another answered. He'd give the Order bastard five more minutes and then he was going home and they could take their offer of sanctuary at the end of all of this and shove it. This was too dangerous and he didn't want to end up on the end of Dolohov's wand again. He'd pissed himself the last time. The Death Eaters still laughed at him about that.

A leaf crackled under a foot and he jumped. He swung to face the sound, wand out. The woman who stepped into view made him sag with a relief he immediately hated himself for.

Hermione Granger eyed the wand and he shoved it back into a pocket. "You're late," he said.

"Had to figure out how to undo some wards," she said. "Nice to see you too."

It was hard not to plaster a sneer across his face. Hard not to say something as nasty and cruel as possible just to hide how close he was to breaking down. Her hair was always a good target. Calling her ugly had always gotten a rise out of her. Weird the way pretty girls were the most sensitive about their looks. He'd never understood that. He took a deep breath and fished the stolen papers out of his robes. Insulting her wouldn't help. "I brought them," he said. "The newest ones."

Hermione Granger took them with a neat, efficient gesture and murmured a quiet _lumos_ so she could see. Was it enough? He bit down at the inside of his mouth and focused on that small pain to keep from asking. It always seemed like enough when he filched them but he could never be sure what these people wanted. Volde… no, don't even think it. _That one_ would probably rage if he had any idea people took notes after his awful little meetings. Alecto Carrow was slow, though. She forgot stuff. She needed her notes to remember what it was the Dark Lord wanted, what it was they were going to do. She wasn't the only one.

"This is good," Granger said though she'd scanned it so quickly he doubted she'd read much. She folded the papers up and tucked them away. When she met his eyes he saw a hint of respect on her face and maybe a little uncertainty.

"Didn't expect to see you," he said. Usually it was one of the Weasleys. They'd come to a cold understanding of mutual hatred tempered by how useful he was to them. His stolen information had saved enough of their side they'd all pretend they didn't despise him even more for being a turncoat. _Didn't even have the courage of your shitty convictions, huh Malfoy?_ Ron had asked once.

"I wasn't busy," she said. "The others all had to be somewhere." He nodded. He'd go back now. It was what he did. He'd go back and he'd pray to anything that might be listening that no one suspected, and in a month he'd be waiting again. Sneered at again. These people in their noble Order didn't understand no one hated the Dark Lord like someone who had to see him, had to eat with him, had to bow and scrape and flatter. He'd do anything to get out.

"Malfoy," she said. He quirked a brow up, mask of smug arrogance on. "What you're doing… it's really brave."

His stomach lurched at that. "I'm just saving my skin," he said.

She reached a hand out like she was going to touch him and he wanted to step forward into that half-offered comfort but she dropped her arm before he could. "Yeah," she said. "There's easier ways to do that."

"Not really," he said. He'd considered fleeing to the continent, or maybe South America, but the Dark Lord had a long reach and he didn't forgive. Death Eaters who ran died. Slowly. He shoved his hands down into pockets and hunched his shoulders. It had been easy to be brave when he'd come up with this mad plan. Everyone was a hero in the safety of his bedroom. It was a lot harder in the cold woods. "I want out, that's all."

"A lot of people want out," she said.

He shrugged. That might be true. Hard to tell. He sure wasn't confessing anything over tea to some other poor sod with a Mark on his arm. He wouldn't expect them to be honest with him.

She took a step forward and this time when she raised her hand she didn't lower it again. He could feel her skin pressing against his cheek. Her palm was cool and smooth and it almost felt like absolution. He wanted it to be that. It probably wasn't. "Malfoy," she said, then, "Draco."

He shuddered.

"It's almost over," she said softly.

"Don't tell me things," he said. He'd break. Anything any of them told him he'd spill. He'd already told the Weasley brigade that. Maybe they hadn't passed it on. _Keep me ignorant_ , he'd said. _Better for you that way. Safer._

And hope. God. Hope was what killed you. People got careless at the end. He was more afraid of hope than he was of half his fellows.

"It's okay," she said. "We made it."

Before he could ask what that meant, a boom erupted behind him, followed by a wave of heat. He spun but whatever spell had gone off had already dissipated. He could see the smoke, though. It clogged the sky already with grey plumes that his the moon. "What is that?" he asked.

"The end," she said.

He could smell it now. The acrid reek of a house fire that crept into his nose. His house, he assumed. "The end for whom?" he asked.

"Him," she said. "Harry and Ron and everyone are there now. We waited for it to be your night to meet up so you'd be clear."

That was more than he'd have expected them to do. He took a few steps out of the woods, towards the Manor where he'd grown up. He could see the glow. The whole thing was burning. All of it would be gone.

Hermione Granger moved behind him. She was so close she was almost touching him again. Her breath was hot on his neck. "I know it was your home," she said.

He shook his head. It had been, once. It hadn't been since his sixth year at Hogwarts. It had become a hell and everyone he'd loved who'd walked its halls was dead. Fitting the place ended in fire. "They said I'd be exonerated," he said. Don't focus on the what was happening. Move on. Keep swimming. Escape.

"You will be," she said. Her hand was on his arm now, and he reached up to lace his fingers through hers in gratitude for that. To take the small comfort she could offer. To lie to himself that he was as brave as she seemed to think he might be. He done it, after all. Spied. Helped the good guys. That had to count for something.

Hermione Granger tightened her fingers on his as he stood and watched the past turn to ash and smoke.

He had no idea what to do now.

. . . . . . . . . .

 **A/N – A present for quickhidetherum, who is herself a gift to fandom.**


End file.
